Date: Wed, 20 Jul 2005 11:59:55 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Who has to forgive - chapter 7/9 (Young Friends)

----------------------------

WHO HAS TO FORGIVE
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2005
written the 2nd of February, 1993
translated by the author English
text kindly revised by
David

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"WHO HAS TO FORGIVE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic
scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family,
opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to
read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or
because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed
guest.

-----------------------------

CHAPTER 7

TWELVE LIRA

One afternoon Tom showed up in Antonello's shop.

"Hi, Tom. What are you doing in town?"

"Roberto is printing. He sent me to buy the acids... I thought I'd stop
in to say hello."

"Oh, good."

"Where are Nello and Franco?"

"They are at a customer's house to deliver and assemble a bedroom."

"Ah, so you're alone, now," the other noted with an air of indifference.

"Yes," Antonello answered quietly.

While they were speaking, Antonello went around the shop dusting, and
Tom followed him. He followed him into the back room also, where
Antonello put away some old catalogues.

Tom drew nearer to Antonello from behind, pulled him to himself and
kissed him on the neck: "Do you know that I like you a lot?" he
murmured.

Antonello gently wriggled away and, turning, said to him with a smile:
"Thank you. But I am with Roberto. You know that."

Tom seized him again and pushed his erection against him, saying: "Just
for once, come on... he doesn't have to know about it."

Antonello shuddered at the provocative contact but wriggled away again:
"But I would know about it, and I don't want to cheat on him."

"Don't you like me?" Tom asked him provocatively, touching him between
his legs and feeling that Antonello was already half hard. "I would say
you do..." he slyly added.

"Of course, you're a good-looking guy. But please stop it."

"Would you give me at least a kiss?" Tom said, stopping to grope his
fly, then seizing him by the arms and again pulling him against himself.

Antonello shook his head, still smiling, and tried to free himself. Tom
pulled him more tightly against himself and tried to kiss him. There
followed a kind of struggle and they fell to the floor, Tom on top of
Antonello. Now they were both fully aroused. They could feel each other
through the fabric of their trousers, being so tightly squeezed one
against the other. Tom managed to hold Antonello's head still and to
kiss him. Antonello tried to resist, repelling him, pushing with both
his hands against Tom's chest, to wriggle away, but his blood was
pounding in his temples, Tom's excitement was communicating to him
through his entire body. And he remembered the naked body of Tom that he
had seen so many times and in so many erotic poses, and felt his head
ablaze... and yielded, welcoming Tom's tongue and sucking it with sheer
lust.

It was a quick fuck, without even really undressing, with just their
trousers open and lowered enough to allow their union. But it was
intense. When Tom realized that Antonello was yielding and accepted his
kiss, that he had stopped struggling and repelling him, Tom opened
Antonello's fly and freed his hose, which was now hard, pulsating,
pointing straight up. He dropped his own trousers to his knees and
lowered himself onto that rod, driving it into himself, impaling himself
before Antonello changed his mind. Antonello emitted a moan of pure
pleasure. Tom started to ride his friend's shuddering meat, pushing it
all well inside himself, using his full weight, energetically springing
up and down on Antonello, lying on the floor, grasped him by the sides,
impressing on Tom's body the right rhythm, up and down, up and down,
taking him with vigor. Antonello closed his eyes, and enjoyed the wild
ride. Tom was clearly very talented -- he made his hole quiver, he
lightly rocked his pelvis, and in the end Antonello was holding him
still and, arching his pelvis, was giving his loins firm strokes from
underneath, fucking his friend with power, with determination. It lasted
only a short time. Antonello came quickly, with violent contractions and
had a really intense orgasm. Then he went limp, exhausted, trembling.
Tom was satisfied, sated. He too had come, in his own handkerchief, not
to soil his companion's clothes. He too had enjoyed with particular
intensity that stolen orgasm.

They stood up in silence, panting, and tidied up. Antonello had his eyes
lowered. He trembled, but now no longer from pleasure. Now it was for
shame for what he had allowed to happen. Tom kept an eye on his
reactions.

"Go, now. Go away," Antonello said in a low voice.

Tom was about to say something, but then desisted. But at the shop's
door he stopped and went back. Antonello was now sitting at his desk,
papers, bills, drawings and catalogues in front of him.  He sat still, a
hard expression on his face, his hands intertwined on the desk top so
violently that his knuckles were white.

"You are pissed off at me..." Tom said in a low voice.

"No, not at you at myself, I am a weakling, a coward... a bitch,"
Antonello answered in a strange voice, bitter and angry.

"I'm sorry, but... I won't tell anybody ... anything."

"I have to tell Roberto."

"Why? He will fire me ... He will be mad at me..."

"That's certainly a risk. You must have thought of that before."

"When will you tell him?"

"I will tell him this evening, when I go home. Right now, I don't think
I could, I have to get my composure back..."

"I'm sorry..." Tom repeated, sincerely now that his excitement had
passed. He was aware, now, of what he had done, of the storm that he had
stirred up in Antonello's heart. "I'm sorry... It's my fault..." he
confessed, crestfallen.

"It was at least as much mine. I'm not a kid anymore. And I'm strong
enough, I could have resisted." Tom looked at him for a while, but
Antonello kept his eyes lowered. Then, in silence, Tom left.

Tom went to buy the acids and returned to Roberto's place. "Hey, it sure
took you a long time!" Roberto greeted him merrily, without reproach in
his voice.

"I had... I lost track of time with... a friend... Forgive me."

"No big deal. Give me the acids." They worked in silence. After a while
Roberto asked him: "What's up? You seem strange, this evening."

"Nothing... I just don't feel very well..."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Maybe I should," the boy said, and having said his goodbye, went home.

Later, Antonello arrived.

"Hi my Beloved!" Roberto cheerfully greeted him. "Come and see how
beautifully these pictures came out. Lino and Leone sure are an
impressive couple, two born actors. Who would have expected it from
Leone! Look here."

"No, I don't feel like it," Antonello answered, his eyes down.

Roberto looked at him, studying his expression: "But.. What's going on?
Don't you feel OK?"

"No..."

"Do you have problems at the shop?"

"Not really..."

"Come here, Love..."

"Wait... I have to talk with you."

"With that face?"

"Let's go to the living room. I need to sit down."

"Do you feel ill?"

"No, come on," Antonello said. Roberto followed him worriedly. Antonello
sat on a chair.

Roberto took another chair and, pulling it near him he too sat down: "So
then? You're worrying me..."

"Roberto, I... I don't deserve you."

"What?"

"No, I don't deserve you. I don't."

"Don't talk nonsense!" the young man exclaimed, moving to embrace his
friend. But Antonello suddenly looked straight into his eyes, and
Roberto froze, because he saw in them an unfamiliar hardness. "What
happened?" he asked, almost in a whisper, afraid he was beginning to
understand.

"I cheated on you, Roberto. That's what happened," the youth answered in
a sharp voice.

"Cheated on me? That's impossible..."

"Yes, I cheated on you. Less than three hours ago. In the shop, I had
sex with another guy."

"No, that's impossible..." Roberto repeated feeling suddenly emptied.
"With whom?" he asked then, in a faint voice.

"Does it matter?" Antonello asked dejectedly.

"No, you're right..." Roberto admitted his head spinning. They were
silent for several minutes. Roberto's brain was empty. His heart was
beating slowly but heavily. All his limbs were heavy.

"I don't deserve you, Roberto," Antonello repeated, but inside him there
was the hope that his lover would contradict him. That he would say to
him, 'No, love, let's talk about it... let's try to understand...' But
Roberto was silent, unable to reflect, to speak. Roberto was feeling
like a man after a violent earthquake, in front of the ruins of his
house, under which lay his beloved. He was destroyed.

"I'm going to sleep downstairs. Tomorrow I'll gather my things and
leave..." Antonello said, standing up, all the time shouting inside
himself, 'Don't let me go, please! Punish me, beat me, but make me feel
I still belong to you...' But not a gesture, not a word came from
Roberto, and Antonello went downstairs. He threw himself onto the bed,
so cold, so alien, where up to that day he had never slept, and finally
he burst into inconsolable tears. He was done for. He had asked for it.
He was not mad at Tom, he was not even thinking about him. He was
furious with himself.

Meanwhile Roberto was still sitting in the living room, dazed. His
beloved... with another!  'And I who did not even want to show his naked
pictures! Why, Antonello? What happened? Are you perhaps tired of me?
Why did you do such a thing to me?' Roberto stood up heavily and went to
lie on his bed. And he saw Antonello's pictures, those first pictures,
that smile, so sweet, that was not yet for him... and he said to those
pictures: "But I love you, Antonello!" and silently cried.

Through his tears, the smiling image of Antonello seemed to come to life
-- it became deformed, and the sweet smile seemed to transform into a
sneering smirk. Slow moments of eternity passed. Then Roberto felt
inside himself a dull, cold, pulsating rage growing that permeated all
his limbs. His body tensed, hardened. A rage strangely not furious, but
almost calm, but for all that, no less powerful. His tears ceased and
dried on his features, now like stone. Antonello's smile now seemed to
him empty, alien. Not yet for him, and no longer for him. 'No, he
doesn't deserve me, he's right!' he thought.

The rage gave him energy and a cold lucidity. He got up, went down the
winding staircase and entered the bedroom where Antonello was, switching
on the light. Antonello looked at him and in his glance there was a
short flash of hope, killed at once by the terrible expression on the
other's face.

Roberto, in a calm, glacial voice, said: "If you have to go, you can do
it now."

Antonello felt it like a knife in his heart. But he thought that Roberto
was right. He sat up on the bed where he was lying fully dressed, and
simply said, "Yes."

"Take everything you want. The shop is yours, we have no more debts."

"No, I don't want it.  Besides, you need it. Nello can manage it."

"All the same, it is yours."

"Only half of it belongs to me."

"All right, then. I'll pay you for your half, as soon as I have the
money."

"What ever you wish."

"The bike anyway is yours. But I want the key holder back."

"All right."

"Let me know where you go, so that I can send you the money."

"Alright."

"When you go, leave the apartment keys on the table. Here. Don't come
upstairs."

"Alright."

"I'll bring you your belongings in a little while. Wait for me."

"As you wish," Antonello said in a flat voice.

Roberto went back upstairs, opened all the drawers, all the closet doors
and filled two suitcases with Antonello's belongings. He took down the
pictures from the bedroom wall, put them together with the other
pictures of Antonello and slipped them into one of the suitcases. He
looked around again to check if there was anything else belonging to
Antonello, then went down the main stairs, put the suitcases on the
landing in front of the door of the third floor, and rang the bell.

Antonello, surprised, went to open the door.  "Here are your things. If
I forgot anything, let me know and I'll send it to you."

"It doesn't matter. You can just throw it away, if that happens," the
boy answered.  He handed him the golden key holder and the apartment
keys, took the two suitcases and silently went down the stairs. They
didn't even say goodbye. While Roberto was locking up the empty
apartment, he heard the rumble of the bike leaving in the night. He went
upstairs and hit the bed still dressed, wanting only to fall asleep. He
was asleep almost immediately, like a stone.

The alarm clock rang at seven 'o clock. He got up and saw the empty wall
in front of the bed, and recalled everything. The same rage from the
night before was inside him -- calm, cold, clear. He took a shower,
fixed his breakfast, and then went into the darkroom to work. When he
heard the doorbell ring, he looked at his watch -- it was nine thirty.

He went to open it, it was Tom. "You're late. Come in."

"No, I came to give you back the key. I came to quit."

"To quit?"

"Of course."

"Of course? What does that mean?"

"Didn't... he tell you..." the youth started hesitantly, and Roberto
understood. Tom being late, the acids shop not far from Antonello's
furniture shop... the weird behavior of the youth when he came back with
the acids the night before. All was clear. Without changing his
expression, Roberto seized the boy by one arm and dragged him inside.

He closed the door, without releasing his hold on the boy, and said, "It
was with you that he cheated on me with, then!"

The boy was trembling: "Didn't he... didn't he tell you?"

"No, he didn't. He was protecting you. Are you his new boyfriend?"

"No, no! It was the first time, the only time. Ask him!"

"He's not here anymore. He went away, forever."

"You threw him out? But it was my entire fault, not his, I swear..."

"Oh, really all your fault you say? Explain yourself."

Tom, with Roberto still holding fast to his arm, told him what had
happened and how.  Everything, word for word, gesture for gesture, and
concluded, "... so I came to quit, because it was my fault."

"No, you aren't going to quit at all," Roberto said icily. The boy
looked at him, frightened, not understanding. "Come here," Roberto said,
practically dragging him to the living room. Here he let him go. He
pulled out the belt from his trousers. "Strip naked!" he ordered dryly.
Tom was trembling, but didn't resist, and began to undress while Roberto
lashed him all over his body. Tom knew he deserved that punishment, and
accepted it. The belt lashes were painful even if they were not given
with violence. Red stripes appeared on the boy's skin. When Tom finally
pulled off his briefs, Roberto dropped the belt and started to undress
in his turn. Tom was not looking at him; he had his eyes fixed on the
floor, his arms, marked here and there by the strokes, hanging inert at
his sides.

Roberto finished undressing and stood in front of the boy, his legs
slightly apart. "Get down on your knees! Get it hard!" he ordered. Tom
let himself drop to his knees, put his hands on the other man's thighs
and began licking Roberto's member, which he was seeing for the first
time. He licked and sucked it, until it was turgid and little by little
rose up. Tom's brain was in turmoil. He understood only that he had to
obey, he had to do anything his master told him, and do it well. He was
at his best as he worked that meat pole. He took the stiff handle into
his mouth and sucked it with care, with dedication.

"Stop, now. Get down on all fours," Roberto ordered sharply. Tom obeyed
again. He turned, kneeling on the carpet and lowered his chest, turning
his small firm ass towards the other man. Roberto knelt behind him and,
without lubing his hard pole, drove it between the boy's buttocks, found
the entrance, seized Tom's waist and violently pushed forward. Tom
relaxed and pushed backwards to meet that powerful thrust. Roberto gave
a second strong stroke and sank halfway inside Tom. Tom moaned. He felt
as if he had never taken anything that big inside himself. Roberto gave
another big thrust, with all his strength, and Tom moaned again, feeling
fully spread, inexorably invaded, and knowing he could not escape it.

Then Roberto started to hammer into that gaping hole with violent
strokes, with all his strength. He didn't care about Tom, he wanted to
hurt him, and he had to give vent to all his rage, all his pain, all his
disappointment. Tom knew that, and took it, unable to avoid a moan at
each thrust. He could feel the young man's violence, and he knew he
deserved it. He was feeling pain, but also an odd pleasure at being
taken so wildly, so domineeringly. He was feeling the hard column of
flesh, huge (in reality it was just the absence of a lubricant that made
it feel bigger than it was), pushing inside him with relentless energy.
At each stroke, he felt the man's testicles violently slapping against
his buttocks. He felt Roberto's hands squeezing his sides with power and
determination. He felt (but he didn't dislike it) at Roberto's mercy.

Roberto continued to hammer that small, firm, hot ass like a madman,
squeezing that body he had so often photographed, even admired, and that
now he was not even appreciating. Tom, inert between his hands, docile,
submissive, was for Roberto not even an object of pleasure. His body was
just the target of his rage, he didn't caress it. He didn't look at it
(he had his eyes shut), he was not enjoying it. He was raping it,
violating it, even if Tom didn't feel like he was being raped.

On the contrary, Tom was feeling that the punishment was becoming
acutely pleasurable, which just increased his remorse. At last, with
violent spasms, Roberto reached his orgasm, which was more painful for
him than pleasant. Not a really physical pain. It was the discharge of
all the pain that was gripping his heart for having lost his Beloved.
His lover, whom, he realized confusedly while he remained deeply
embedded inside Tom, trembling, he strangely still loved. He remained
like that, unmoving, until he regained his self-control. Then he slipped
out, still half erect, and hurriedly dressed without even cleaning
himself. He ordered Tom to get dressed and the boy obeyed in silence.
Then Roberto, in a dry tone, but with his normal voice, said, "Let's go
into the darkroom. We have a lot of work to do."

"But..." the boy hesitantly dared to say.

"No fucking buts! You aren't quitting. You are skilled and I need you as
my assistant and as my model. Understand?"

"Yes, if you say so..."

"And from now on, also..." he added with a feeling of bitterness mixed
with malice, "... also to give me pleasure."

Tom understood and simply nodded, thinking that that was fair, after
all, and that, anyway, he wasn't really unhappy with the prospect...

Roberto underwent a change that amazed everyone. He started to shoot the
pictures half undressed and sometimes he even participated. Before, he
would just suggest poses without even touching the models, but now
instead he touched them, fingered them slyly, and, one after the other,
he took to his bed whichever boys accepted his advances, which was
almost all of them. As soon as he had one of them in his bed, he took
them or made them take him, without gentleness, uniting with them with
an unbridled, animal sexuality. He also often had intercourse with Tom
-- whenever his desire awakened and he didn't have one of the other
models within reach, he took Tom to his bed, mounted him and took him,
with less violence than the first time, but no less vehemence. He
enjoyed Tom's submissive docility, without gentleness, without
tenderness. The majority of the models didn't mind the inexplicable
change at all -- Roberto was gorgeous, a real stallion, and having sex
with him was very satisfying.

Sebi was one of the few who didn't accept Roberto's proposals to take a
break and have sex. That sudden change and the news that Antonello
simply "went away," didn't convince him at all.

So, as soon as he could meet Tom alone, he asked him, "Listen, you're
always at home with Roberto, do you know what really happened? Do you
know why Antonello went away? Do you know why Roberto changed so much?"
Tom nodded in assent. "So?" Sebi urged him.

"I don't feel like talking about it..." Tom protested, averting his
eyes.

This made Sebi suspicious: "By chance, do you have something to do with
all this?" he asked. Tom didn't answer. "So then, you really do have
something to do with all this." Sebi insisted, now convinced. "Spill it
right now, if you don't want me to beat you to a pulp!" he said. Tom
looked at him worriedly and realized that Sebi wasn't joking at all.

So, for the second time, he told the whole story again, including
Roberto's reaction on the following morning. Sebi was furious and
started to thrash the boy, who was trying to avoid the punches, but
without trying to escape. But Sebi stopped almost at once. Then he asked
Tom: "Do you know where Antonello is now?"

"No."

"Do you think Roberto knows?"

"I don't know. He never talks about him."

"Damned fucking shit! We have to find Antonello."

"But I..."

"No but! For the moment just shut up, don't say anything to anybody,
understand?"

"Yes..." the boy assented, frightened.

"And do me a favor..." Sebi added.

"Yes, what?"

"Next time that Roberto tells you he is horny; you give him firms no,
understand?"

"What? Why? He said that I..."

"... 'That you' my ass!  You had better quit your job -- that was what
you meant to do, wasn't it?  Or else let him beat you up again, if you
don't want to quit. But God help you if you have sex with him again,
whether you want to or not!"

"OK... OK. But what if he insists?"

"If he insists, you tell him... tell him, 'we've all paid enough
already!' Understand?"

"Yes.'We've all paid enough!' But... who do you mean, 'we all'?"

"Everybody -- Antonello, you, and Roberto. Everybody."

"I understand."

Sebi went to see Roberto and asked to speak to him alone. "Listen,
Roberto, I know what happened between you and Antonello."

"Oh really? Fine," Roberto coldly answered.

"And I think that you are a fucking filthy bastard, and a beast."

"Me?"

"Yes, you!"

"It wasn't me who cheated on Antonello, but he on me. If you know
everything, you know that, too. Don't you?"

"Of course, physically it was as you say. But you cheated on him and on
yourself, you betrayed your love. Even if you now feel you hate him..."

"Hate him? No..." Roberto answered sadly, as if lost, "No,
unfortunately, I still love him. I have to resist the temptation to
print his pictures again, to look for him."

"You still love him?" Sebi asked, feeling a sense of relief.

"Yes, I do. I can't get him out of my head... or my heart."

"That's why you fuck with everybody? One pain chases away another?"

"Maybe, I don't really know myself."

"Or maybe... to punish him for doing it, and yourself for letting him
go... Is that right?"

Roberto kept silent, unable to give himself, or Sebi, an answer.

Sebi continued, "Don't you think you have been too harsh?"

"What do you mean too harsh?"

"Yes. Antonello did wrong, let's face it. But is your love for him so
superficial, so immature that you can't understand that one can also
make mistakes? That we are flesh and blood and that at times it is not
so easy to resist our impulses, especially when we are heavily tempted?
Is your love so ridiculous, so fake as to convince you to act like a
whore with all the boys? You remind me of that man who, to punish his
wife who had cheated on him, cut off his balls. Antonello made a
mistake, and you play the whore!"

"It's different. At this point I don't feel bound to him any more. I
don't want to be bound to him any more. All the boys fuck with whoever
they happen to meet, why shouldn't I?"

"Yes, but they're not in love. You are, or at least you said you are.
Just a minute ago you said you are still in love with him, didn't you?"

"It isn't the same, any more."

"Of course it's not and mainly because you hurt him."

"I hurt him?" Roberto asked, amazed.

"Yes, you, letting him go. Don't you think he was expecting from your
love, from his man, understanding, forgiveness... love, in a word? And
you were just the opposite -- unable to understand, to forgive... Did
you even try to talk with him about it?"

"No..."

"Is it possible that Antonello was happy with what he did?"

"No. He seemed shattered..."

"So then what did you decide to do?"

"But he did it. And anyway it wasn't me who threw him out, he decided to
leave."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure. He said that he didn't deserve me and that he had to go..."

"Of course, you piece of shit! He was feeling guilty. But it might
possibly have been enough for you to have stopped him, wouldn't it? What
did you do to stop him?"


"Nothing..."

"So then, it is as if you threw him out, bastard! You threw him out, you
animal! You are a fucking idiot!"

Roberto was not offended by Sebi's abuse. He was thinking about it. Sebi
understood that he had found an opening.

"Listen, Roberto. If I were you, I would reprint those pictures and look
at them, and think back to all that there was that was beautiful, that
was priceless between you two, and balance that against being
unfaithful... and after that, honestly, I would ask myself if I am
enough of a man, if I am strong enough to look for Antonello, and to ask
his forgiveness, at least, if what there was between you two was real
love. I would go and ask his forgiveness. Yes," Sebi reaffirmed standing
up and leaving Roberto alone with his thoughts.

But Sebi was still not done. He wanted to track Antonello down, he felt
like he had to. He was deeply fond of the boy, he was his oldest friend.
By now, they had known each other for about ten years. And it was he who
had introduced Antonello to the love between males so, in a way, like
then, he still felt responsible for him. Like an older brother. They
were both orphans, they had nobody, they were really like brothers.

On the following day he asked his boss at the garage where he worked, if
he could leave early. He took his moped and went to the furniture shop
before it closed. As he had known he would be Nello was there.

"Hi, Sebi! This is a nice surprise. I haven't seen you in a long time
not even during the photo shoot. How are you?"

"I`ve been fine, and you?"

"I am fine!"

"And how is the shop?"

"Not bad, I manage to sell a little. Of course, when Antonello was
here... he was a born salesman. For every piece I'm able to sell, he
would have sold two! Anyway the shop is still running."

"Ah, about Antonello, do you know where he is now?"

"In Ascea, I think. At least that's where his bank account is, where I
send the money every month."

"Don't you have his home address?"

"No."

"And... why are you sending him money every month?"

"Not me. That is, yes, I send it, but on behalf of Roberto. He says he
has to pay him back for his half of the shop, so every month I send
money to Antonello's account."

"Good fucking heaven! What a piece of shit!"

"Me?"

"No, not you, Nello, I am talking about Roberto! When do you send the
money?"

"At the end of each month, I balance the accounts, take my pay and that
for Franco and Dino, I put away the money we need for payments and
expenses and all the rest I send a money transfer to Antonello..."

"Give me his account number," Sebi said, interrupting him.

Nello looked in a drawer, then wrote it down on a slip of paper and
handed it to Sebi. "Do you owe him money?" he asked, a little curious.

Lot more than just money. Thanks, Nello," Sebi answered, and went out in
a rush.

The next day he asked his boss for half a day off, and the man,
grumbling, assented. So, on the following morning, early, he left with
his moped and reached Ascea. He asked around and found the bank. He
entered.

"Excuse me..." he said to the clerk at the window, "a friend of mine has
an account here at your bank. But I lost his address. Can you give it to
me?"

"We are not authorized to give the addresses of our clients."

"Ah, I see. May I see the director then?"

"Yes, certainly, it's that door, there. But it is useless, believe
me..."

"Well, I'll try," Sebi answered, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. He
knocked at the door. The director was a woman. He explained to her what
he wanted.

"I am sorry; we really can't give our clients' addresses."

"Can you at least give him a message from me?"

"I'm sorry; this is a bank, not a post office."

"But this is an urgent thing, an important matter, believe me..."

"Listen, I said I'm sorry..." the woman said again, aloof.

But Sebi interrupted her: "Sorry my ass, you damned liar! Tell the truth
-- you just don't give a shit! Bitch!" he burst out and left the bank
pissed off, slamming the door before the woman had time to react, to the
dismayed looks of clerks and clients.

At first he thought he could wait outside the bank, as sooner or later
Antonello had to pass there. But he quickly realized that was a stupid
idea -- he had to go back to work; he could not be there every morning
for what could take as long as a month. He took his moped and went back
to his village. On his way back, he had another idea. When he arrived,
he immediately went to the bank where he had his savings and entered.

He said to the clerk girl: "How can one send money to a friend's
account?"

"If you have his account number, you can just do a transfer."

"Very good. So I'll do a transfer."

"Yes, right away. Name of the recipient?"

"Antonello Russo," Sebi answered, satisfied, and gave the clerk all the
required data. The girl filled out a form.

"Amount?"

"Twelve lira."

"Twelve thousand lira?"

"No, no, just twelve lira, then plus two. Here they are."

"But... it will cost you more to transfer than the money you are
sending. A transfer costs you six hundred and fifty lira..."

"All right, I have to send him exactly twelve lira, so here are the six
hundred and sixty two lira. Is there some problem?"

"No, no, if that's OK with you..." the girl answered, barely hiding a
smile, and she wrote on the form "Lit.12"

Then she asked "Is there an accompanying message?"

"Ah, can you send a message with it?"

"Yes, normally the reason for the payment is included in a few words."

"I see, very well. Then write..." Sebi started and thought. "Show up!"

"Excuse me, but that's a little odd as an accompanying message. Perhaps
we could write 'awaiting a kind reply'... is that all right?"

"Yes, all right. But can you instead write 'awaiting a fast reply'?"

"Certainly! Here. Please sign here. Are you paying cash or should we
withdraw the sum from your account?"

"No, here it is, six hundred and sixty-two lira. Is that all?"

Sebi left the bank satisfied, his receipt in his pocket, and went back
to his job. If Antonello still remembered their conversation from ten
years ago, and Sebi didn't doubt that he did, he would show up. At
least... he hoped so. And if not, he would continue to send him twelve
lira each month, until his friend gave in. He could not think of another
way to track him down, and he wanted to find him at all costs.


-----------------------------

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 8

-----------------------------

In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my English stories
please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

---------------------------